


post special preview impulse porn

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Edging, M/M, Post Special Preview
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4309086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i wrote this because the preview killed me and i'm dead now</p>
            </blockquote>





	post special preview impulse porn

the doors are closed now and we're laughing, we are. positively giddy because the case has been cracked and holmes was brilliant and the spaces between us in the cab were filled with electricity and now-- now we're home and i can feel the tension just slip from my fingers. 

holmes removes his coat and his jacket and his hat and puts out his pipe and slides into his chair, arms sprawled akimbo and legs splayed apart. he breathes deeply, fingers tightly pressed together in front of him. he still has that tight energy that comes from a case, as opposed to the loose airy feeling he exudes usually. he huffs, wrapping his arms around himself. 

"watson," he grumbles. 

i look up from where i'm preparing tea for the two of us. 

"yes, holmes?" 

"i rather think that i'll be heading off to bed."

i hum in response, not thinking much of it. he sometimes gets like this, wishing to just sleep after a case, skipping his cup of tea. 

he doesn't move. instead, he grunts and curls up into a ball in his chair. 

one of his black moods then. an evening when he craves his cocaine, his tobacco. i consider asking him if he's going to use tonight, but think better of it. 

suddenly he unfolds and leaps from the chair, moving rapidly toward me before opening his mouth and murmuring a deep: "john."

from this i know. we have an unspoken system like this. our first names unlocking a certain sort of intimacy between us. i look up at him, startled. i believed that this would be an awful night to deal with, but this. 

well, i'd much prefer this. 

he smirks at me, knowing that i understand. i move in towards him, grinning. "sherlock," i say. 

our lips slide together, my mustache (damn the bloody thing) brushing his upper lip. we kiss slowly and softly. 

we go so long without this that when we finally come together it is explosive. he would laugh at my use of such a word to describe this sort of depraved act, but in my own mind it is harmless. he pushes me against the wall, mouth opening against mine, hot breath against my tongue. he drives me mad. 

i turn us around, pushing my hips against his, his britches tight against his crotch. i thrust against him, making him squirm a bit. "bedroom?" i say into his ear. he nods, his fingertips digging into my hips. he's desperate, i can tell. his intakes of breath are short and quick. he's flushed pink from the tips of his ears down. 

we move to the bedroom where he swiftly rids himself of his clothing, standing before me in absolutely nothing. his skin is flawless and pale, marred only by the occasional mole or scar. his body hair is dark and travels from the base of his prick-- slender, pink-- to his navel. 

he is mouthwatering. 

i take him in my arms and kiss his neck. he shivers in my arms, gasping, his hips twitching on their own accord. "watson," he says, throaty and absolutely gorgeous. "please." i nip at him before pulling away and placing a final kiss on his lips. 

now, his flush travels all the way down to his chest. his nipples are peaked, his hands shaking. he's gloriously desperate. 

i sit down against the headboard, pulling him back into my lap. he likes it when we do it like this, his head tilted back on my shoulder, his back against my clothed chest. 

what i'd really like to do right now is lay him down, suckle at his nipples, get them bright red from interaction with my facial hair, then slide down his body, take him into my mouth. slide my oil-slick fingers into him. 

but for now, this is fine. this is better than fine. i wrap my hand around his cock and pull at it; slowly at first, then gaining momentum, the movement pulling his foreskin up and over the head of his prick. he keens, muffled noises against the palm of his hand. 

he insists on this, bottling up his noises so we have no chances of being caught. i dream of a night where the two of us can be completely alone, bodies bare, window cracked so the moonlight spills across our sheets. he'll open his mouth and the filthiest noises will escape, my name, he'll say my name. 

which reminds me-- "john," he gasps. "please."

i kiss his neck. i can tell he's nearing his peak, but i won't let him off this easy. i take my hand off of him, relishing in the agonized noise he makes, his hips bucking. my other hand holds him down a bit, just so that he doesn't hurt himself with the intense arch of his back. 

he closes his eyes tight, prick straining against the air, thighs twitching. 

i love him like this, shaking and gasping and-- i slide my fingers together-- leaking against my hand. 

i open the drawer next to us, pulling out the oil, the bottle half empty. i put some on my hand before returning to my task, stroking him, his skin hot and slick. 

he gasps repeatedly against his hand, volume climbing as i move. i want so badly to take his hand away, let his moans echo in the room. "john!" he exclaims. i take my hand away. he twitches, his whole body seizing up. 

"john, oh- watson- i-" his hand flies down from his mouth, gripping the sheets. "i'm so very close, john, i- please, please."

"you can hold out a bit longer, i think, holmes." i stroke him once, "yes?"

he groans, "yes, yes, please just-"

"just what?"

"get me off, john, please."

i chuckle, taking him in hand. 

he lasts about 10 more strokes before his abdomen begins to tighten, his breath coming quickly. "please, oh-"

"come on, holmes."

"john-" 

i nearly bite a whole through my lip with the arousal that washes over me at his tone at that very moment. 

"come for me, sherlock."

he does, hips jerking, a low whine slipping out of his lips and into the air around the two of us. 

he rolls over and ruts his thigh against me, making me come in my trousers. i gasp his name into his mouth. he kisses me softly and sweetly. 

when we've both calmed sufficiently, he pulls back to look at me. his skin is still flushed, his curls-- which only i am allowed to set eyes on-- have sprung free. 

"well, that was rather lovely, watson," he jokes, before lowering his voice and slipping his head into my neck, lips mouthing a quiet "john," there. 

"i love you very much," he murmurs. 

still, those words tug violently at my heartstrings. he is manipulative with them at times, knowing i am a romantic, but in moments like this, he is all soft, all genuine and small. 

"i love you too, sherlock."


End file.
